“Now, sirs,” quoth then this Osëwold the Reeve, “I pray you all that none of you do grieve, Though I answér, and somewhat set his hove, 1217 For lawful is force off with force to shove. 1218 This drunken miller hath y-told us here How that beguiled was a carpentére, Paráventure in scorn⁠—for I am one: And, by your leave, I shall him quite anon. Right in his churlish termës will I speak⁠— I pray to God his neckë might to-break. He can well in mine eyë see a stalk, 1219 But in his own he cannot see a balk.”